"Emmy." He cut her off gently. "We both know that's not how this works."
She stopped. Swallowed.
"Once Cecelia Ferrance has my name on a contract, she's going to squeeze every drop of PR value out of it. 'You didn't hear it from me, but a certain quarterback has Elite Connections to thank.' That kind of thing." His eyes didn't leave hers. "You know I'm right."
Emmy looked away. She couldn't argue with that.
"How long do you have?" Grant asked.
"What?"
"You said you need to deliver. What's your actual deadline?"
"Two weeks from when she gave me the ultimatum. That was yesterday." Emmy's voice went quieter. "So thirteen days to get you signed. To prove to Cecelia that I can actually deliver an athlete client. But the actual matchmaking..." She hesitated. "That would run through the season. Through the post-season, if applicable, and the Super Bowl in February."
Grant processed that. Thirteen days to commit. Then six months of actually doing the thing.
"And how often are we talking? Dates, events, whatever this entails."
Emmy smoothed the edge of her portfolio, aligning it more precisely with the table. "I know you're busy. Maybe one or two dates a month during the regular season? And four networking events total—charity events, that kind of thing. Places you'd probably go anyway. Then we'd reassess based on..." She trailed off.
Based on whether he'd found someone. Right.
He could do this. Sign the contract, give Emmy the credibility she needed with Cecelia. One date a month wasn't terrible—he'd been doing that anyway with the Madisons and Emilys of the world, just without the strategic framework. The networking events were things his agent already had him scheduled for.
He could go on strategically bad dates. Women who were clearly wrong, nothing that could go anywhere. He'd be politely engaged but impossible to please. "No chemistry," he'd say. "Great person, just not the right fit."
By the time playoffs started in January, he'd have the perfect excuse to pause everything. Too focused, can't be distracted, we'll revisit in the off-season. By then Emmy would be established enough at Elite Connections that his participation wouldn't matter anymore.
She gets the job. He stays single. Everybody wins.
Something settled in his chest. Not resolve—heavier than that, and lower. The same weight he felt in the tunnel before a game, when the crowd noise was just vibration in his sternum and the only thing left was to walk out.
"I have conditions," Grant said.
Emmy scrambled to open her portfolio, pen at the ready. "Okay. Name them."
"No one knows I'm a client."
Emmy's pen stopped. "What?"
"I mean no one. Not the media, not your colleagues, not anyone outside this booth and Cecelia's office." Grant kept his voice flat. Final. "And especially not West."
"Grant—" Emmy's voice pitched higher, the composure cracking. "The wholepointof signing you is the credibility. Cecelia hired me because I could deliver an athlete client. Ahigh-profileathlete client. If I can't even mention your name?—"
"Then you'll have to deliver results instead of PR."
Emmy stared at him. He could see her calculating—the promise she'd made to Cecelia, the career she was trying to build, the value of his name versus the reality of his conditions.
"She's going to want to use you," Emmy said quietly. "Not publicly, maybe, but—you know how this industry works. Whisper campaigns. Donor dinners. The implication alone is worth?—"
"Worth my privacy?" Grant's voice didn't rise. It didn't need to. "Worth my season getting derailed because some gossip columnist decides 'Desperate Quarterback Hires Matchmaker' makes a fun headline?"
Emmy flinched. Good. She needed to understand what she was asking.
"I know what I'm worth to her, Em. That's exactly why I'm not giving it away." He leaned forward, holding her gaze. "I'veseen this play out a dozen times. I sign a contract, shake a few hands at a gala, and next thing I'm a walking billboard whether I agreed to it or not. Cecelia gets to name-drop me to every rich divorcée in Boston while I'm trying to make the playoffs. My personal life becomes content."
"She wouldn't?—"
